


Voltron Bingo drabbles

by dysnom1a



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Body Image, Drabble Collection, M/M, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Pre-Kerberos Mission, References to Illness, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 02:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysnom1a/pseuds/dysnom1a
Summary: 1. College AU2. Missing/Reunion (College AU #2)3. I Will Never Give Up On You (post-canon)4. Acceptance (post-canon)5. Conflict (pre-Kerberos & post-canon)6. Vulnerability (post s7)7. Goodbyes (pre-Kerberos)8. Pretend Relationship (AU)





	1. "College AU"

It’s been several minutes, and the woman is still talking. Shiro sort of tuned her out at _‘it’s all about oil, you know.’_ He should know her name; they have several classes together. Casey? Lacy?

“Oh, fuck off, Stacy.”

Ah, right. That’s it. _Stacy_.

“Do you think he hasn’t heard this exact same crap a thousand times before? What do you even want from the man, his other arm?”

Stacy gasps. Shiro can’t even blame her; his knight in beat-up leather jacket is a brand of _blunt_ not often encountered in real life. Now _his_ name, Shiro has no trouble remembering. 

“Excuse me?”

It’s nice of Stacy to provide Keith with an opportunity to apologize. Coincidentally, this is also the time Shiro should jump in and come to her rescue, and let Keith know that he doesn’t need anyone to fight his battles for him. He should assure them both that of course she wasn’t bothering him and send Keith on his way.

Keith, who always looks like he just stepped out of some terrible ‘80s rom-com and forgot to shed his 'bad boy with a heart of gold’ getup; Keith with the wry in-class quips and clever eyes crackling with righteous indignation.

An awkward silence descends on their little table.

“You heard me,” says Keith, and then, unbelievably, adds, “Fuck. Off.”

Shiro attempts to turn his morbidly delighted snort into a cough. He doesn’t think he’s entirely successful. Luckily, the other two victims of this particular train wreck are too busy glaring daggers at each other and, in Stacy’s case, turning alarming shades of red to pay him any mind.

“Who do you even think you are? We were having a private conversation—”

“Well, it sure as hell sounded more like a one-sided rant to me. This is a community college cafeteria, not a political forum debate. He was trying to eat lunch and you were harassing him. I know because I was here for the whole thing.”

This is true. Shiro might or might not have chosen this table specifically because Keith was already occupying the next one over.

“So you’re admitting to eavesdropping on us. Charming,” Stacy snaps. “Figures you’d be one of those pro-war types.”

She’s a tough cookie, Shiro will give her that. He sees no way she could possibly win this one, but she has fighting spirit for sure.

“How d'you figure that, you don’t know shit about me,” Keith retorts easily. “And for the record, I’m just pro not walking up to near strangers and vomiting my unsolicited opinions on them. Y’know, basic human decency. Cool stuff.”

“Look, just leave us alone.”

And here it is. The finale. Shiro will think back on this moment later and wonder if he could have salvaged the situation somehow. Perhaps, if he really wanted to. 

But Shiro doesn’t really want to.

“Look, just leave him alone, it’s not his fault you can’t reconcile your virulent anti-military sentiments with how much you want to suck his dick.”

Shiro doesn’t know what mortifies him more: his own burst of inappropriate laughter, or the roughly two dozen people who are now not even pretending to mind their own business, gawking openly as Stacy all but flies out of her chair, knocking it over in her haste to escape.

“See you in class, Stacy,” Keith calls after her, because it’s entirely possible he’s the sort of person who has no shame whatsoever.

“That was brutal,” Shiro wheezes. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Yeah, well, she was pissing me off.” Keith shrugs, apparently unconcerned by how everyone is still staring at him. “Sorry if I embarrassed you or whatever.”

“It’s fine, though I could have handled her.”

“Sure, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“I’m Shiro, by the way.”

He sticks out his hand for a shake, hoping he doesn’t look as flustered as he actually is.

“I know your name, Hot Soldier Guy,” Keith says as he takes the proffered hand, the corners of his mouth quirking into a little smile. “ _By the way_ , I’m Keith.”


	2. "Missing/Reunion" (College AU #2)

“Keith? What’s wrong?”

“Man, is this how you always answer the phone?” Keith drawls, sounding mighty amused.

“We’ve known each other for three months and you literally never called me before. You always text,” Shiro replies defensively, willing his heart to make the descent from his throat back to where it belongs. “Right. Let’s start over. Hey, Keith.”

“Hey, Shiro. You going to school today?”

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“Just wanted to make sure someone I can actually stand will be taking notes I can borrow.”

“Oh? That’s high praise, coming from you,” Shiro teases. “And what exactly gave you the idea I would just let you borrow them?”

“I dunno, the fact that you’re a do-gooding pushover?”

“That is a filthy lie.”

“Yeah, that group project last month? That you completed on your own and then let a bunch of slackers take credit for because apparently you ‘had nothing better to do anyway’?” Keith snorts. “Pathetic, Shirogane.”

“For the record, I really had nothing better to do,” Shiro protests, flustered despite himself. “And that tone is not about to win you any favors with me, buddy.”

“Okay, fine, I’m willing to pay. Name your price.”

“Dinner,” Shiro blurts, his eyes growing wide at his own boldness.

He’s been meaning to ask Keith out for what feels like ages, but somehow he just never got around to it. They’ve casually texted each other and had several meals together already, but always as friends. Or something like friends, anyway. Acquaintances brought together by circumstance. What is he even doing here?

“I mean, just if you want to. You know I’ll let you borrow my notes, you don’t really need to—”

“Shiro?”

“Yeah?”

“ _Chill_. I’d love to buy you dinner at the fast food joint of your choice, because that’s the level of classiness I can afford. Y'know, in case my appearance and general disposition have given you the wrong idea.”

Shiro laughs quietly, more out of giddy relief than anything.

“Coincidentally, that is the level of classiness I’m most comfortable with.”

“Cool, so it’s a date. Man, Shiro, you sure drive a hard bargain.”

“Not bad from a do-gooding pushover, eh?” Shiro chuckles. “Will you be on campus tomorrow?”

“Uh, probably?”

“I don’t mean to be nosy, I’m just asking because I could clean up and send you today’s notes in the afternoon so you can take a look at them by tomorrow.”

“Oh, it’s not that urgent, don’t worry. I’ll probably just pass out for like twelve hours as soon as I get home.”

“That sounds… worrisome,” Shiro says, frowning. “Is everything alright? Are you going to work?”

“Um, no? I mean, I was at work, that’s sort of what got the ball rolling.”

“You were at the garage before seven in the morning?”

“No,” Keith says, pausing to yawn. “Not at the garage. Other job. I’ll tell you where I am if you promise not to freak out.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shiro.”

“How much is your bail? Please tell me they gave you bail.”

“What the fuck?” Keith laughs. “I’m not in jail, asshole.”

“Oh thank god.”

“I’m at the A&E.”

“You _what_?”

“Did I say A&E? I mean the ED. Sorry, I just talked to my mom before someone else could call and freak her out and she said A&E about fifteen times, now it’s stuck in my head. And now you know my deepest, darkest secret: I’m half British.”

“Fascinating,” Shiro deadpans. “I know what the A&E is, Keith. More importantly, why the fuck are you in the emergency room?”

“I’m pretty sure they forgot about me. Or they’re waiting for me to get fed up and leave, or possibly to drop dead of boredom,” Keith speculates idly. “Putting my own shoulder back into place B-grade action hero style seems more tempting by the minute.”

“Whatever you do, do _not_ do that,” Shiro orders sternly.

“I wasn’t going to, I’m not a complete idiot. Who even does that?”

“I mean.” Shiro clears his throat. “Definitely not nineteen-year-old me trying not to fail out of a training exercise.”

Keith whistles lowly. “That’s… impressively stupid. But I can kind of see it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind, Rambo.”

“How did you even manage to dislocate your shoulder?”

“Some stuff fell on me.”

“How… vague.”

“It was a filing cabinet, I think? To be honest, at that point I was more interested in getting the fuck out of that house ASAP. Hoarders are the worst.”

Shiro would pinch the bridge of his nose if he trusted himself not to poke out an eye with his prosthesis and end up in the emergency room right next to Keith.

“You’re not exactly clarifying things here, buddy.”

“Oh, right. I’m a firefighter. I don’t think I mentioned that before.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I would remember if you did,” Shiro agrees with a mouth suddenly gone dry. “I thought you worked at your uncle’s garage.”

“I do. I’m a volunteer firefighter who also works at his uncle’s garage.”

“And goes to college.”

“When I’m not stuck in the emergency room, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Are you counting the gay porn tropes that make up my life?”

“Of course not,” Shiro lies smoothly.

“I promise you I’m not all that interesting,” Keith says with a raspy little chuckle. “I’m mostly just perpetually broke and always busy.”

“Please tell me you don’t have a dog,” Shiro begs, because at this point, he’s not above it.

“What? Why? I do have a dog, actually. Wolf.”

“You have a _wolf_?”

“No, I have a Saarloos wolfdog called Wolf.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Shiro groans, because there’s no way. People don’t just look and act like Keith and then also turn out to be half-British volunteer firefighter mechanics and _not_ kick puppies for fun. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“Come on, it’s not _that_ bad,” Keith protests. “At least I didn’t name him Fluffy or something. Wolf is a totally respectable name for a wolfdog. Listen, I’m finally getting jabbed with some muscle relaxers so we can get this show on the road. Gotta hang up on you now.”

“Are you gonna be okay? Do you have a ride?”

Keith snorts.

“Yes, _Dad_.”

Oh, lord.

“My uncle’s coming to pick me up when I’m done, don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow, Shiro.”


	3. “I Will Never Give Up On You”

“What did the doc say?” Keith demands before Shiro could so much as put a foot inside his room, and Shiro hates himself for wanting to roll his eyes. Just looking at Keith—so full of life, so tense with a myriad of worries, one of which always seems to be Shiro—is enough to exhaust him; but then again, everything seems to exhaust him these days.

“It’s all good. False alarm.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s nothing wrong with,” _this body’s_ , “my muscles, it’s just…” Shiro trails off with a shrug and a vague wave of the hand by his head. That’s where all the trouble seems to be centered now; kind of funny, all things considered. To think there was a time he was terrified of being trapped in there, whole and intact even as the rest of him faded away. “It’s more PTSD bullshit. I’m fine.”

Keith doesn’t say anything. He’s still frowning. Still worried, because Shiro can’t even do this much right.

“He gave me some more vitamin supplements,” he offers as he shucks off his uniform. “Because clearly, my daily B1 intake is the real issue here.”

Keith gets up from the bed and starts collecting the clothes Shiro just dumped on the floor carelessly. Shiro rolls himself into the warm Keith-shaped spot on the mattress and closes his eyes against the tragicomical sight that is Hurricane Keith, of all people, cleaning up his mess. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was at least bitching about it, but no. Keith is not doing this to make some kind of point in a passive-aggressive, roundabout way; it wouldn’t be his style. He’s doing it because he genuinely cares about the train wreck Shiro’s become.

Shiro wishes he could feel something more than vaguely apologetic about that, but emotions are hard work and not nearly as appealing as sleep. Nothing holds a candle to sleep right now; not Atlas, not decent Earth food, not even Keith climbing into bed with him. The very idea of having to perform tonight makes him wish he took the time to put on some sweats or something before face planting into bed. Not that Keith would ever force the issue, but Shiro has probably disappointed him in a dozen other ways just in the last twenty-four hours alone, never even mind the last twenty-four months. If Keith asked, Shiro would at least try to give him something.

But Keith doesn’t ask. Keith wraps an arm around Shiro’s waist, presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder, and apparently that’s that.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, apropos of nothing.

Keith lets out a tired little huff Shiro feels more than hears against his nape.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna make you talk about it unless you do something really stupid, like start skipping your appointments.”

“I’m not skipping my appointments.”

“I know, Shiro. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.”

Shiro can’t exactly believe that, but he wants to. That, he figures, should at least count for something.


	4. "Acceptance"

“I don’t know. I just feel weird about it.”

“Why?”

Keith’s patient gaze is inescapable in the gentle glow of the room. _Their_ room, and Shiro’s nowhere near used to how that sounds and feels.

“Maybe they should take pictures of Kinkade instead. He’s very handsome.”

Keith snorts.

“Yes, the internet is aware, don’t worry. They don’t want pictures of Kinkade, they want pictures of you, Mr Media Darling. You used to do this all the time before Kerberos.”

“Sure, but I don’t exactly look like I used to before Kerberos, do I?”

There are many things Keith could say here. Shiro’s not even sure what he wants to hear. 

He really shouldn’t be surprised when Keith doesn’t go for the obvious reassurance, because when has Keith ever been _obvious._

“But you were never going to look like that, were you? Not even if you guys made it back alright.”

Shiro takes a while to think about that. Keith tucks a lean, muscled leg between his thighs and pulls him in even tighter, flush against the heat of his body. Keith runs hotter than anyone else Shiro’s ever been this close to. He’s not sure if it’s a Galra thing or just a Keith thing; it doesn’t matter, at any rate. The warmth is always comforting.

“You know, most boyfriends would just tell me I’m still attractive.”

“There’s nothing attractive about fishing for compliments,” Keith replies promptly. “Or avoidance. Also super unattractive.”

“You know what else is unattractive? Intergalactic freedom fighter interrogation techniques.” He pauses to give that one the thought it deserves. “In bed, anyway.”

He’s rewarded with a nip between neck and shoulder. Keith’s teeth feel sharp; perhaps sharper than human. But maybe they’ve always been like that. Maybe Shiro is even better at ignorance than previously assumed.

“I was trying really hard to avoid thinking about it all. Anything that had to do with being ill.”

“I know you were. I was doing the same for a while,” Keith confesses into the warm, dark abyss between their bodies. “It all just seemed so… vague. Too vague to imagine. I didn’t know where to begin imagining it.”

“Yeah. It’s not like facing death head-on. You know about facing death, but it isn’t like that at all. It’s not that clean. There’s no adrenaline to push you through, no immediate outcome. Just this fucking ball of fear and anxiety in the pit of your stomach that never really goes away. Maybe it shrinks sometimes, maybe you can ignore it for a couple days at a time, but then someone says ‘five years from now’ and you don’t know if you’ll be six feet under by then, or vegetating in a wheelchair unable to even take a shit on your own. You just know that you won’t be okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.”

They’re quiet for a while. Keith’s breaths puff against the bare skin of Shiro’s throat, slow and even.

“In conclusion, things could have turned out worse,” Shiro quips, trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t,” Keith says. “Don’t start clowning.”

The tips of his fingers rub over the desperate little half-moons he just carved into Shiro’s back, soothing the sting. Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if there was blood under his nails.

“I didn’t really know what to expect, but I made my peace with that long before I found you again. You know why?”

Keith pulls back a bit to look at him. His eyes look more luminous than ever in the low light.

“Because whatever happened, the end result was always going to be the same. I was never not going to love you. There was never going to be a version of you I didn’t love. I knew it just wasn’t possible. I’m sorry if you feel insecure now, I really am, and we’ll work on changing that, but Shiro? I don’t really give a shit what you look like. I never have. Your looks are a nice bonus, but that’s about it.”

“Wow, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Shiro deadpans. Or tries to. Problem is, he’s one hundred percent honest when he says that, and also embarrassingly close to crying.

Keith pushes back his hair and drops a kiss on his forehead.

“I know, your life is sad. So what’s it gonna be, will you let Time take pictures of your sad ass?”

“ _Hey_. Space has left few parts of me untouched, but if nothing else, I still have a great ass. ”

“Yes, yes, and we’re all oh so grateful.” Keith rolls his eyes. He looks more fond than he probably realizes. “You still have a great everything else as well. And a great big head about it all.”


	5. "Conflict"

Shiro is having the weirdest dream.

“Oh, crap, you’re awake,” says Hot Older Keith.

“I highly doubt that. If I were awake, you wouldn’t be twice your age and dressed like a Tali'Zorah cosplayer,” he points out sensibly.

Keith laughs.

“God, you are such a nerd. Fine, I guess it’s better this way. Go back to sleep, Shiro.”

“We just established that I am, in fact, asleep, so humor me.” He pats the side of his bed in invitation.

Keith gives his hand a dubious look.

“This is probably a terrible idea. Or maybe not. I have no idea how this works. Where’s Pidge when you actually want her to talk general relativity?” 

“What’s ‘this’ and who’s Pidge?”

“Oh, boy.”

Keith perches on the bed gingerly. He looks even hotter from up close. More wolf than the puppy Keith actually is, and Shiro foresees a lot of freaking out in his immediate future about why, exactly, he’s having dreams like this about his young friend.

“I’m from the future.”

“Sure you are, Marty McFly.”

Keith gives the ancient reference the long-suffering sigh it deserves.

“Seriously, how did I not realize what a giant nerd you were? Teenage me was such an idiot. Do you want to hear this or not?”

Shiro shrugs, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard.

“Sure, screw the chronology protection conjecture. So you’re from the future.”

“Yep. And… that’s about it. I couldn’t tell you how it’s possible, and this is definitely not where I was supposed to end up.”

This is hardly surprising. Shiro’s brain might be creative enough to come up with Hot Older Keith, but not with a scientific position on the possibility of time travel.

“And now we know I’m not cut out to be a theoretical physicist but am kind of a kinky bastard.”

“Because that’s brand new information.”

“It’s more information that you’re giving me here, Marty.”

“We wouldn’t want the universe to implode,” Keith says with a wry little smirk. Because Shiro’s brain is not done messing him around, Keith’s gaze seems to wander from his face down his naked chest where it pauses, clearly appreciative. “God, look at you. You’re so young.”

“Um,” says Shiro.

“I can see you having some sort of crisis of conscience right now. Trust me, teenage Keith wouldn’t mind.”

Hot Older Keith sounds so convincing, Shiro can’t recall the last time he hated his own brain this much.

Luckily, said brain seems to take pity on him and conjures up a young woman who looks extremely familiar for some reason.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Keith. We don’t have time for your canoodling.”

“But if we’re already in a time loop—”

“Nope, get moving,” she cuts in ruthlessly.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” Keith mutters, before leaning over and kissing Shiro’s cheek. “See you in a few years, hotshot. Or a couple hours. Actually, I sincerely hope we didn’t just screw up majorly and you won’t remember any of this.”

-

Keith drapes himself over Shiro’s back.

“So, Tali'Zorah, huh?”

“What?”

“Who knew Garrison Golden Boy Takashi Shirogane was a _gamer_.”

“We send you back in time and this is the intel you come back with?” Shiro demands.

He’s blushing so hard even the tips of his ears are red.

“This, and I think I also gave wee little past you a very confused boner. Say, you don’t happen to remember—”

“Absolutely not.”

Keith snorts, unconvinced.

“If you say so…”


	6. "Vulnerability"

“Yeah, no. Nope, this is not a crisis of faith I need right now.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow as he puts his tray on the table and takes the only seat left, the one next to Shiro.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Lance. What are you on about?”

“Dude, come _on_ ,” Lance exclaims. “You can’t just walk in here with that Tyra makeover and those _cheekbones_ and be all ‘what are you on about.’ Hunk, tell him.”

“Hey, Keith. Glad to see you back on your feet, man,” Hunk says warmly with a pointed look at Lance. “Also, nice haircut?”

“Oh. Thanks, I guess.” Keith combs his fingers through his hair tentatively, careful of the still healing wound on his scalp. “They had to shave some of it. I was hoping cutting the rest a bit shorter would look less stupid than leaving it long.”

“You look fine, Keith,” Pidge assures him. “Right, Shiro?”

“What?”

Finally wrenching his gaze away from the unfamiliar patch of skin at Keith’s nape, Shiro blinks at her owlishly.

“He looks… _fine_ , doesn’t he?”

There’s a wicked, all too knowing gleam in Pidge’s eyes. Lance makes an aggrieved noise into his coffee mug.

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t he?” says Shiro, and immediately wants to die when Keith looks over at him with those big lovely eyes of his which, improbably, seem even bigger than Shiro’s used to now that there are no shaggy bangs framing them.

Keith gives him a little smile and shrugs. “It’s just hair.”

“Right.” Shiro needs to stop nodding like a goddamn bobblehead. “It looks fine.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Pidge parrots with a shit-eating grin.

“Gross,” mutters Lance.

Keith, bless his heart, seems to give up on trying to decipher their antics and digs into his breakfast with heartening aplomb. Despite everyone’s best efforts, he’s lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his recovery; it’s a relief to see evidence of him finally on the mend.

“It’s good to have you back,” Shiro murmurs, resting his left hand on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith shoots him a startled, pleased glance, smiling close-lipped around his mouthful of artificial eggs. It’s the same look he’s been giving Shiro for years, only there’s nothing coy or guarded about it when it isn’t veiled by a curtain of dark hair.

Keith looks beautiful—he always does—but there’s something heartbreakingly open about him now. It’s not just the hair; that’s the least of it, really. It’s in the glimmer of amusement in his eyes as Lance and Pidge start squabbling across the table, the way his body leans ever so slightly into Shiro’s side even in front of all these people.

As if of its own accord, Shiro’s hand slides from its familiar perch on Keith’s shoulder onto the as of yet undiscovered expanse of Keith’s exposed nape. He strokes his thumb over the velvety hair there; over precious, fragile skin paler than the rest of Keith’s body. He cups his palm over the back of Keith’s head and Keith leans over to rest his forehead against his shoulder briefly.

“It’s good to be back.”


	7. "Goodbyes"

“I need to tell you something.”

Keith looks about ready to shake out of his skin, and Shiro can practically hear Adam’s, ‘I told you so.’ Always said in a particular tone of voice, it’s all the more irritating for how smug it isn’t. Adam was right about Keith like he’s probably right about Kerberos, and the funny thing is, knowing that he won’t have to hear the words because he won’t have to talk to Adam about this—or possibly anything else ever again—doesn’t make him feel any better about what’s going to have to happen next.

Keith is wearing his most mulish expression. It’s been a long time since Shiro saw him like this. It doesn’t make him look tough like he seems to think it does; Keith at his most guarded is still an open book, an open wound of a boy, if you know what to look for.

Shiro remembers seventeen and wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy. He can’t even imagine what seventeen with a generous helping of 'why my dad’ and a side dish of 'where’s my mom’ must feel like. He gets 'stewing in your own personal hell’ and 'alone in a room full of people’ but not this; not the way Keith is looking at him like Shiro could make or break him with whatever comes out of his mouth next. No one’s ever had that kind of power over Shiro.

Adam was fucking right, as per usual. Shiro should have been discouraging this somehow. He should have addressed this before Keith could bring it up. He’s stopped thinking of Keith as a kid in some respects, but went on silently patronizing him in others. _'It’s a puppy crush, where’s the harm?’_ and Adam just looked at him for a while the way he always did when he was expecting Shiro to realize his own insensitive blunder. _'He’s not a puppy and you don’t get to brush off people’s feelings just because they are inconvenient to you, Takashi. That’s not how relationships work.’_

Keith’s timing is impeccable, Shiro’ll give him that. He has a good head for strategy. In a matter of hours, Shiro will be gone for years. Keith has him well and truly backed into a corner here; whatever his answer, it will have to be a definitive one.

Or so Keith thinks, and it breaks Shiro’s heart that he can’t give him that.

By the time he gets back, Keith will be an adult. It’s a bizarre notion. Shiro can see traces of that man in the sharpening lines of Keith’s jaw, in the way his uniform is getting just a bit too tight in the shoulders when his arms are crossed defensively like they are now. He can also see the kid who stole his car. Like back then, Keith’s eyes are screaming 'do your worst’ and 'please don’t hurt me’ in equal measure.

“You can tell me when I get back,” Shiro says.

His inner Adam is cringing at him; _Shiro_ is cringing at himself. It’s not the right answer.

Keith lets out a shocked little gasp when Shiro pulls him into a hug, but he goes willingly enough. The muscles under Shiro’s hands are quivering with tension.

“Please, Keith. Tell me when I get back.” He could add, _'Maybe by then, you won’t even want to,’_ but he remembers what Adam told him about his tendency to brush off others’ feelings and he won’t do that, not now. Not to Keith.

Keith is not crying, but he makes a suspicious little snuffling noise into Shiro’s neck before asking, “Will you hear me out? When you get back.”

“Of course I will.”

“Fine.” Keith pulls back and looks up at him with dry, fierce eyes. Shiro’s never quite managed to figure out what color they are. “If you die in space, I’ll hunt you down.”

“Right, bud.”

“You think I’m kidding, but I’m not.”

“I know you aren’t,” Shiro tells him sincerely. “I wouldn’t dare.”


	8. "Pretend Relationship"

“Hey, I just ran into Allura at the grocery store,” Keith yells over the sounds of him shrugging out of his jacket and kicking off his shoes by the entrance. “She had some interesting things to say.”

“Yeah?” Shiro calls back.

“Yeah. Hi there,” Keith says as he comes into the kitchen, pausing to kiss Shiro on the cheek and give the stir-fry on the stove a suspicious glance. “That looks pretty good.”

“It’s frozen,” Shiro admits without prompting.

“Thank god. I thought you were _experimenting_ again.”

“Your lack of faith is hurtful but probably justified.”

“ _Probably_ ,” Keith repeats derisively. “I _probably_ don’t need food poisoning right now, especially since we’re getting married soon. According to Allura, anyway.”

“Huh.” Shiro clears his throat and gives the vegetable mix a few unnecessary pokes with his spatula. “That is indeed interesting.”

“Right? Here I thought we both agreed marriage was weird and kind of gross and not something we ever want to do, next thing I know, Allura’s stopping me in the cereal aisle to ask how the wedding preparations are going.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He doesn’t even have to see Keith’s face to know he’s having the time of his life right now, and why wouldn’t he be? Shiro’s been waiting for this particular fuck-up to come back to bite him on the ass for weeks now.

“You wanna turn off that stove and explain why one of our closest friends seems to be under the impression we’re tying the knot?”

“Not… particularly?” Shiro winces, but he does as he’s told anyway, taking a seat across from Keith at their tiny kitchen table. “It was an honest accident. Allura wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

“Start from the beginning,” Keith orders, resting his chin in his hands. “I need all the details since I’m a concerned party here.”

“There are no details,  I just… Look, you know how I can get a bit… defensive… around Adam?”

“No, can’t say I ever noticed how you immediately regress into a twelve year old as soon as he opens his mou— wait, holy fuck,” Keith exclaims, delighted. “Was this at the wedding? Did you tell Adam at his own fucking wedding that we were getting married? Did you get all bitchy and contrary when he started bugging you about settling down? Oh my god, please tell me he told you _you aren’t getting any younger_.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s totally not what happened,” Shiro lies with a very dignified sniff. “And also, why are you so happy about this? Are you _crying_?”

“Sorry,” Keith wheezes, wiping literal tears of amusement from his eyes. “Just… Please tell me someone got this on camera.”

“God, I hope not,” Shiro mutters, cringing at the very idea. “It’s bad enough that Allura overheard and has been telling anyone who would listen.”

“Don’t try to put this on Allura, it’s not her fault you’re such a pushover. Did Adam even buy what you were selling? He of all people would know how you feel about the great institution of marriage.”

“Knowing Adam? Probably not,” Shiro admits dejectedly. “There’s no way out of this… unless…”

He stares at Keith until Keith’s eyes widen in realization, and then he’s off again, laughing so hard the table is shaking with it.

“Babe, _please._ We can just tell everyone we eloped or something.”

“I’m not fake-marrying you to save your face, you loser.”

“I thought you liked my face,” Shiro says sadly.

“It’s a very good face,” Keith coos, leaning over the table to squish Shiro’s cheeks. “My favorite face in the whole entire world. I’ll be sad to see it go. Oh hey, what if we sent out invitations but instead of invitations they were ‘guess who isn’t getting married ever’ cards?”

“Allura would gut me like a fish.”

“Isn’t it a bit late to start worrying about that?” Keith points out reasonably. “I mean, you told her she could pick out the flowers.”

“Oh god,” Shiro breathes. “I told her she could pick out the flowers.”

“You sure did, bud.” To Keith’s credit, he doesn’t sound entirely unsympathetic. “If it’s any consolation, I’m pretty sure Lotor’s about to pop the question any day now. Planning her own wedding should sufficiently distract her from planning our never-in-a-million-years hypothetical one.”

Shiro sincerely hopes he’s right.


End file.
